by Donna Doyle
“The church is about more than giving,” Kelly said.
“Try telling the utility companies that when they want to know why the bills aren’t paid.”
“We’re not at that point.”
“No, but if we ignore the problem, we will be. A church can’t survive if its minister isn’t regarded as a pillar of the community,” Anne said. “Unfortunately, that’s the position we’re in. Our minister is a suspect in a murder and we’re going to have to think of the good of the church. First Church has been in this town since the first settlers came here, almost two centuries ago. We owe it to them to stand up for what’s right.”
“We owe it to God to stand up for what’s right,” Kelly corrected. “That means not judging Rev. Dal based on speculation instead of facts. John Parmenter is dead. Murdered. We don’t know who killed him and we don’t know why. But until the police have a suspect and there’s an arrest, we owe it to the integrity of this church to remember that Jesus was unjustly accused, tried and crucified without cause. That’s not something that any church should duplicate.”
15
Sharing Theories
When Troy saw Kelly’s name appear on his phone, he answered immediately. He was on his way home to see to Arlo before heading back out again. It was another long day, he hadn’t taken time to get something for dinner, and he was tired. But the prospect of talking to Kelly changed that.
“Hi,” he greeted.
“Hi, Troy. I know you can’t tell me, but I need to know: Is Rev. Dal your main suspect in the murder of John Parmenter?”
Kelly’s words tumbled forth as if they had been pent up in silence for too long.
“He’s a suspect only because he went up there to talk to him on Saturday. That helps us fix the time of death, but the condition of the body and the temperature of the water make it hard to determine when Parmenter was killed. No one really believes that your minister did it, but it would be a lot better for him if he hadn’t gotten into an argument with the old guy in front of witnesses.”
“But he admitted that he went up to the camp to try to work things out,” Kelly pointed out. “Doesn’t that exonerate him?”
“It’s just—there’s no motive, Kelly. No one knows why he was killed.”
The state police were actually investigating the Parmenter family as well, to see if any of them had any reason to want to kill the benevolent dictator who ruled over the business with a firm grip. It didn’t seem any more likely that they had done it than the minister, but someone had done it and someone had a reason. Finding out that reason was going to take time.
“It might be awhile before the murderer is found,” Troy said. “I’m sorry. What’s going on?”
“Some of the church members had a meeting tonight. Rev. Dal wasn’t there. I didn’t know he wasn’t told about the meeting or I wouldn’t have gone either. It was the older members.”
“And they’re out for the minister’s hide?”
“They say this is bad for the church.”
“Murder isn’t good for anyone. Are you up for a late supper?”
“Yes,” she said. Seeing Troy and regaining her bearings with his solid, common-sense approach to any crisis, was what she craved. “I am.”
“The Café?”
“No . . . they’ll be closing in half an hour and besides, I haven’t gotten up the nerve to tell Lucas that Mrs. Stark doesn’t want him in the library.”
Sloppy Joe’s was already closed for the night. Only the pizzeria was still open.
“I’ll pick you up at your place,” Troy said. “I’ll be there in about ten minutes.”
He was there in seven minutes and Kelly was waiting on the sidewalk.
“Should we try to have a contest and figure out which of us is having a worse day?” he suggested as he pulled into the pizzeria in Warren Borough across the river from Settler Springs.
She laughed. “It might be a tie.”
The pizzeria wasn’t crowded at this time of night, but it wasn’t empty, either. It was a favorite spot for late-night diners who didn’t want a long wait for their food but wanted their pizza to be top quality. Ordering was easy; their pizza preferences were well known to each other by now. Troy wanted pepperoni on his half, Kelly wanted mushrooms and green peppers on hers. Troy would have liked a beer with his pizza, but he was on duty, so he settled for Coke. Kelly had water.
“About that contest,” he prompted her.
“You go first.”
“Nothing to go with,” he said. “Leo and I are working long days, supporting the state police in the investigation. Rev. Meachem has been interrogated twice—at his home, not the station—but his story hasn’t changed. In the meantime, we’re also dealing with someone trying to scare Mia Shaw.” He told her about the dead rat in Mia’s mailbox, the phone call threatening her kids, the destroyed bike being left on her porch. “She’s scared; Leo is scared for her, but nothing has come out of it. Then there’s Destiny Jantovick. Her boyfriend beat her up again and he’s out of the picture.”
“If he’s out of the picture, why is he a problem?”
“He’s a problem, but not our problem, I guess. I just would like to nail him with something. He’s trouble waiting to find a new victim. Destiny says he’s gone. Maybe he is. I hope so. But all the same, I’d like to charge him with something for what he did to her. He broke her nose, two ribs, she’s missing work because of him, she can’t afford the time off—” he gave her a twisted grin. “Your turn.”
“You already know my story. Rev. Meachem being suspected of murder. He and Olivia had their baby and he’s taking six weeks off. The council okayed it before all of this. But I know he’s got to be worrying about everything that’s happened since then, and instead of the two of them enjoying the baby, they have this hanging over their heads. And then there’s Mrs. Stark. She’s just—I’d say she was evil but that’s too strong a word.”
“Is it? Too strong a word?”
“I don’t know,” Kelly said. “Evil sounds so . . . powerful. I can’t equate what she’s done with assassination or genocide or corruption.”
“Different scale, that’s all.”
Their pizza arrived, aromatic and redolent of the wood-fire oven in which it had been baked. Troy realized just how hungry he was when the first bite of his pizza only left half a slice in his hand. Kelly laughed. “And you say that I have a hearty appetite,” she teased.
“And you do. I like it,” he said. Right now, he couldn’t think of anything he didn’t like about her. Her involvement in her church was an issue because it meant that she was sometimes too busy to spend time with him, but Kelly went at everything in her life full tilt. Right now, she was too enveloped in her concern for her minister to back off. It was part of who she was.
“What do you think I should do?” she asked.
One piece of pizza was already gone. Troy started on a second. “You can talk to your minister,” he said. “Maybe he’ll think of something that he hasn’t already told the state police or us.”
“That’s not likely, though, is it?”
“It’s not likely, but it’s possible. People sometimes only tell us what they think is important. They don’t mention the little things or the nuances because they don’t want to sound like they don’t know what they’re talking about. From what I can tell, Rev. Meachem was genuinely sorry that things got to the point that they did with Parmenter and he went up to the camp prepared to humble himself and apologize. He didn’t go up there mad. Parmenter was most likely already dead when Meachem got there; that’s why he didn’t answer. The family wasn’t scheduled to go up until later that day. The area was pretty well empty when I was there. I’m guessing that whoever killed him figured the lake was a good dumping ground for a body. Not being a fisherman,” Troy added, “he didn’t know that before long, every camp would have its owner showing up.”
“I don’t know what to ask him, but I have to try something,” Kelly said. “I wish I could h
elp you.”
“You do,” Troy said softly.
There was a look in his eyes that confused Kelly. She glanced down at his pizza.
“Do you know what’s in pepperoni?” she asked him.
“No,” he said firmly. “And like I’ve said before, I don’t want to.”
It was a familiar joke on safe territory. Troy left it there. At some point, he wanted to steer Kelly into an acknowledgment of how they felt about each other. But not now. Her loyalty to her church and her minister were in conflict; she was troubled by Mrs. Stark’s accusation against Lucas; and she was feeling as if the library, which should have been under her control as its director, was embattled territory because Mrs. Stark was exploiting her position as the president of the library board and undermining Kelly’s role. That was enough for anyone to deal with; he couldn’t pressure her to take on more. Not yet, anyway.
16
Meeting with the Meachems
Rev. Dal looked pleased to see Kelly at the door. “I didn’t want to barge in right after the baby came,” she said as he opened the door to let her in. “But now that he’s two weeks old, I figured you might not mind the intrusion. It’s my late day at the library, so I decided I’d stop by in the morning before I go to work.”
“Kelly, you’re never an intrusion,” said Olivia, who had come out at the sound of the doorbell. “It’s good to see you. Come on into the living room. Micah is sleeping right now, but you can see him. We want him to get used to the sound of people’s voices, so we don’t hush each other when he’s taking his nap.”
“Micah; that’s a good name.”
Olivia grinned at her husband. “His favorite prophet,” she said.
“Swords into plowshares,” Kelly smiled back.
Rev. Dal looked as if swords were more familiar. She could recognize the telltale signs of someone who was having trouble sleeping and not just because he was adjusting to a newborn’s nocturnal schedule.
There was no use in pretending that everything was all right.
“Are you two okay?” she asked after small talk was done, the baby was admired, and Olivia had brought out coffee.
The couple looked at each other. “No,” Olivia said honestly. “We’re . . . we’re thinking of looking for another church. Not now, of course,” she said quickly. “We can’t leave until this murder is resolved.”
“Have you been told not to leave?” Kelly knew it was a blunt question, but nothing would be gained by fancy stepping around the subject.
“Not really,” Rev. Dal answered. “But it wouldn’t be wise to leave now. Not with suspicion still so strong.”
“People who know you don’t think you murdered John,” Kelly said.
“I’m starting to wonder if my congregation really knows me,” he said. “I know that I probably started off too strong. I should have waited on some of the programs. I see that now. At the time, I thought we needed to move in a more vibrant direction. But I didn’t . . . it was never my intention to bring discord to the church.”
“What happened at the camp?”
“Just what I said. I arrived in the morning. Early, but not too early. I know John is an early riser—was an early riser, but I didn’t want to intrude any more than I already was. It bothered me that he didn’t feel comfortable—that I had made him feel uncomfortable in his church. I wanted to encourage him to come to church on Easter. I wanted to see if we could reach some kind of understanding. I shouldn’t have lost my temper at the council meeting.”
“When you got there, what happened?”
“I knocked on his door. No one answered. I knocked for a long time. I walked around the cabin, looked in the windows. I couldn’t see anything; the curtains were closed. I figured that he was ignoring me, wanted me to leave. But I wasn’t going to give up that easily. And I didn’t really have to worry about making a fool of myself because there wasn’t anyone around.”
“No one?” Troy had been at the lake by then, and Kelly knew that he had gone out early to fish.
Rev. Dal shook his head. “Not on the side of the lake where John’s camp is. It was very quiet. Peaceful. I suppose it shouldn’t have been peaceful, under the circumstances, but there was nothing to indicate that such a terrible, violent deed had taken place there. I walked around the lake to see if maybe John had chosen to fish in another area.”
“Nothing? No one?” Kelly asked with a sinking heart. “No signs of anyone?”
“There was a black Suburban parked in front of one of the camps,” Rev. Dal recalled.
“That belonged to Troy—to Officer Kennedy,” Kelly said. “He was up there for the weekend.”
“That’s what he said. I didn’t see him, though. I didn’t see anyone. Just their vehicles.”
“What vehicles?”
“Well, Officer Kennedy’s, and John’s truck, and a Jeep parked in front of one of the other camps clear on the other side of the lake.”
“A Jeep?”
“Yes, but no one was around.”
“If there was a vehicle there,” Kelly said, “someone must have been there.”
“I suppose, but it doesn’t mean that someone is a murderer.”
“It doesn’t mean they aren’t. Did you tell the police about the vehicle?”
“I told the state police when they asked. They wanted to know if I noticed the license number. I didn’t. There was no reason to.”
“No, I guess not. Whose camp was it?’
“I didn’t know then, but the state police told me that it’s Mayor Truvert’s camp. But he doesn’t own a Jeep. And he wasn’t at his camp that weekend, he told them. He was visiting family in West Virginia. I guess the whole family was getting together for Easter.”
Family. Mayor Truvert was Lois Stark’s brother. She had been in town on Saturday, making the deposit at the bank, she had said. The deposit slip bore out her story; Kelly had checked the deposit online. It didn’t mean anything, though, Kelly realized. They could have left in the afternoon; it didn’t take long to get to West Virginia.
“I know you’re trying to help,” Rev. Dal said. “We appreciate that. You’ve been one of the bright lights since we came here.”
“You sound like you’re already saying goodbye,” Kelly protested.
“I’m trying to be realistic. I can’t raise our son in a town where people think his father was a murder suspect. What if John’s murderer is never found?”
“He’ll be found,” Kelly said confidently. “I know he will.”
And she was certain that the murderer would be found and the suspicion that hovered over Rev. Dal would be lifted. She just didn’t know how.
When she arrived at the library, she was surprised to see that the doors hadn’t opened yet and no one was there, not Carmela, who opened on Kelly’s late day, nor Mrs. Stark. It wasn’t like Carmela to not show up. Kelly checked her phone; she had turned it off that morning before going to visit the Meachems so that she wouldn’t be interrupted as they talked.
Carmela had texted.
My tires were slashed last night. I’m waiting to get to the garage. All four tires slashed! It’s going to cost a fortune to replace them all. I won’t be in to work today.
Even through the brief text, Carmela’s frustration was evident, and Kelly didn’t blame her. She supposed it was young vandals out for what they regarded as fun.
Kelly quickly turned on the computers and began waiting on patrons, some of them disgruntled that the library hadn’t been open when it was supposed to be. Kelly apologized; Carmela, she said, had caught a bug and wasn’t able to come in to open as usual.
“There’s a lot of it going around, my daughter has it and she’s missed a whole week of work,” one patron said when she learned why the library hadn’t opened on time. “You tell Carmela to make sure goes to the doctor.”
“I’ll tell her,” Kelly promised. She would have to tell Carmela about her improvised alibi, but instead of a doctor, she was sure that Carmela had called the
police. However, when she texted Troy to ask, he hadn’t heard the news. He texted back a short time later to say that Carmela hadn’t contacted the police at all; neither Kyle nor Leo knew anything about it.
Such reticence didn’t sound like Carmela at all. Kelly resolved to call her as soon as she had taken care of the rush of patrons and their needs. And where was Mrs. Stark? She hadn’t missed a day at the library in weeks.
It was close to lunchtime before Kelly had a chance to call Carmela. The library was empty of patrons, but Kelly was alert in case Mrs. Stark arrived later than usual.
“Carmela, your tires . . . were anyone else’s tires slashed?”
“Just mine.”
“But—do you have any idea of who did it?”
“No.”
“Did you—are you going to call the police?”
Pause.
“I can’t,” Carmela said in a whisper.
“What do you mean, you can’t?”